


The Adventures of Dean Winchester and His Incredible Shrinking Penis

by bitter_crimson (Krim)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Genderfuck, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krim/pseuds/bitter_crimson





	

The boys are on the road, as usual, going from job to job, crashing in shitty motels. Everything's the same as always except that lately, Dean's been a little more quiet, and has been spending a lot more time in bathrooms.

Sam can't quite figure it out, and considers bringing it up once or twice, but it's _Dean_ , and if something is going on either it's something Dean's probably not going to talk about, ever. Having sorted that out, Sam wills himself to forget about it; he ignores the still-increasingly-long bathroom breaks and weird silences where there would have once been sarcastic quips, and just keeps going.

\---

Until, of course:

Dean, after bursting out of the motel bathroom clad only in a towel, announces: "My dick's shrinking."

Sam's beat-up and exhausted from their most recent job, and is currently striving to become one with the lumpy too-short mattress, but he opens his eyes at that comment, mumbles a sort of confused inquiry, causing Dean to repeat his abrupt statement. There's a pause as Sam's brain tries to process this new information. Failing that, he closes his eyes and rolls away from Dean onto his side, deciding it must be another strange dream brought on by some combination of the crappy diner food he'd had earlier that evening or the blood loss from the hunt afterward.

Only it's not a dream, because Dean comes over to the bed and starts punching Sam's arm until he wakes up. And eventually, with a lot of effort and some shitty coffee, Sam does wake up completely (or close enough), and that's when he gets to hear Dean's claim again. He feels like maybe this should surprise him, shrinking penises, but instead it's all, aha, and now Dean's strange bathroom behavior starts to make sense.

But, "Wait," the thought occurs to Sam, "how do we know this ...shrinkage is mystical in origin? Maybe you're just--"

Dean seems to take offense to that particular line of thought, and whips the towel off to prove his claim to Sam. Sure enough, as Sam has on occasion (neatly blocked from his conscious memory) seen his brother in the nude, he can tell that this shrinkage is not quite your regular flaccid penis action. He'd have estimated three to four inches before. Now, nope, more like one-and-a-quarter inches, and according to Dean it shows no sign of stopping its downward trend.

\---

They hit the research, going over their past half-dozen kills, trying to think of anything that could have had this kind of side effect. There's nothing in the journal, but Sam checks and rechecks it anyway at Dean's loud and angry insistence. Sam thinks maybe it's a curse, and since there's a lot more of those in the world perhaps they should call Bobby, but Dean isn't quite big on that idea.

"No fucking way," he says.

Sam tries to reason with him: "It's not like he'd have to know it's you. It could just be, you know, a hypothetical..."

"What, 'So I've got this friend, and my friend, well, his dick has been slowly shrinking away, and I mean really shrinking away, like it's about to the point where it might disappear completely, and have you ever heard of a curse that can make someone's dick shrink, 'cause my friend is really freaking out about it'?"

So they don't do that. Dean's been looking online while Sam perused dad's journal this whole time, but it turns out (when Sam looks at the screen) all Dean's been looking up are ads for penis enlargement schemes. Sam gets a little irritated and starts to bitch him out, but Dean, already far beyond a little irritated, just bites his head off right back. He does give up the laptop, though, taking Sam's place at the journal instead. At first Sam has about the same luck getting results that Dean seemed to be having, but after a bit of search parameter refining:

"Bingo," Sam says. "It's called 'Koro,' which means 'the head of the turtle' or something like that. It seems to have originated in Indonesian witchcraft, where a witch or warlock can cause someone's genitals to shrink inward by performing the correct rituals, then shaking that person's hand."

"You have _got_ to be shitting me." Dean leans over Sam and tries to wrest the laptop away from him.

"Nope," says Sam. "It looks like it's actually become a kind of psychological phenomenon. Someone imagines their genitals are shrinking and it becomes a widespread panic, a _War of the Worlds_ type thing."

"Hey!" Dean raises his voice. "I'm not imagining this, asshole!" He seems ready to drop trou once more, until Sam reassures him that all right, all right, he believes it, and please, he doesn't need to see _that_ again any time soon.

Only, knowing what it is (or at least, what it _probably_ is) doesn't help them figure out how to stop it. There's surprisingly little in either the journal or on the internet concerning Indonesian witchcraft, and absolutely nothing on how to break this kind of curse.

"Well, find something!" Dean yells, frustrated.

\---

About a week goes by and they're still coming up empty. Dean's still freaking out, snapping at Sam for every little thing and spending most of his non-research time locked in the bathroom. They try hitting some college libraries, not that they're all that sure where to look, and still, nothing. Every few days Dean updates Sam on the current size situation, his tone growing increasingly dull.

Sam can't help feeling a little nervous about what in particular caused this, and whether or not it might be contagious. What if it's some cursed object Dean accidentally touched, instead of someone's hand he shook? Could they still have it with them? When Sam shares this theory with his brother, a zealous search of all of their possessions results, and the motel room looks like a hurricane hit it when Dean's finished. Sam mostly tries to stay out of his way, nervously dodging any objects that look unfamiliar.

\---

Finally, Dean gives in.

"So," he says to Bobby, pants around his ankles, "what do you think?"

Bobby, with a remarkably straight face, studies the display for a few minutes, then grunts and takes a swig from his flask. "Well," he says, "it's not Koro, that's for sure, although it seems to be something similar. Why didn't you mention that your testicles were shrinking, too? Unless that's," he coughs, "normal."

Sam had been hiding in the next room, but hearing this, he says "What?" and strides in to take another look. Dean's balls have definitely gotten smaller, and seem to be retracting toward his body. He also notices that Dean's penis is less than half an inch now. "You didn't mention that before!"

Dean glares at both of them and yanks his pants up. "It just started a couple of days ago. Before that, it was just my--" He swallows and scowls at the floor. "Look, let's just figure out what or who the hell is doing this and how to stop it."

\---

But Bobby, aside from being able to tell them that it's not Koro because of the additional testicle shrinkage, doesn't prove the font of knowledge Sam and Dean had hoped for. He does promise to contact some other hunters, though, so they decide to stay there for a while.

Dean still spends way too much time in the bathroom, and Sam's starting to worry about what this might be doing to Dean's mental health. Sam tries to sort out what _he_ would be thinking if his stuff started shrinking away into nothing, but all he can do is shudder at the possibility and jerk off a little more than usual to reassure himself everything is still there. Still, Sam feels like maybe he should do something to comfort Dean, though he knows if it's obvious he's trying to comfort then Dean will just bite his head off again. (And the phrase "bite his head off"? Not so welcome right now.)

\---

So after a couple more days, Sam puts together a haphazard plan and knocks on the bathroom door when Dean's been in there for an hour or so. There's no answer, so Sam knocks again, and still, nothing. He starts getting a little worried.

"Dean?" he says through the door, and then louder, "Hey, are you okay?"

No response.

Sam's about to burst in the door, but then he thinks he hears something, a kind of low, muffled sound. He pauses, presses his ear to the door, and there it is again. There's something rustling, too, and -- he can hear it more steadily now -- a person, making a low, repetitive, guttural noise, almost like a, a moan--

Oh.

He blushes a little bit, but c'mon, it's not like Sam hasn't heard Dean jerk off _before_ , so it's not--

Only wait, Dean can't have a penis anymore, not at the rate it's been shrinking. Though okay, maybe there's still a stub and it's got some sensation or something -- Sam shudders again at that mental image and reminds himself that _he_ is still intact -- but his curiosity's piqued now. On the one hand, there's the mortification of seeing Dean doing ...whatever he's doing, but most of Sam's indignation at things like that is just show, anyway. They've been living in close enough quarters for such a long time now that it doesn't _really_ bother him anymore. So really, there's just the other hand, and he could always claim he didn't know Dean was in there, and all he's got to do is turn the knob and go in. Which he does.

And sees Dean. Dean, who's sitting there on the toilet lid, pants down, legs spread, slumped against the toilet tank behind him. Dean, flushed and breathing heavily, biting into his lower lip, his eyes half-closed. Dean, with the middle finger of his right hand rubbing back and forth between what look _exactly_ like labia, right where a clitoris would be on a woman, and with three fingers of his other hand buried...

"...oh my _GOD_ ," Sam yells, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out of the room and slam the door. But oh, no, it is far too late. The image is burned in his mind. Dean's stuff hadn't been just _shrinking_. It had been changing, or evolving, or something, and oh, oh god, he had apparently grown a _vagina_ somewhere in there as well, and the whole thing, I mean, obviously Sam had seen many a vulva before and Dean _definitely_ had one, at least based on that initial glimpse, Dean his _brother_ , Dean the ladies' man, and he was sitting in there _right now_ , touching himself and fucking himself with his hand and getting off--

Only, of course, he isn't anymore, because Sam was kinda loud a moment ago and it'd be hard for anyone to miss that. Dean opens the door, still flushed and breathing more heavily than normal but looking pretty mortified as well, his pants obviously done up hastily (the fly still undone). Sam is plastered against the opposite wall, eyes almost popping out of his head and three times as red as his brother.

"You!" Sam stammers, "you, you!"

"Shit," says Dean. "Um. You, uh, weren't supposed to, um."

"What the FUCK," yells Sam.

And Dean immediately launches into a rushed explanation of the whole thing, that, remember how his dick had been shrinking? Well, it had gotten pretty damned small by now, and, um, seems to have gained some extra nerve endings as well. Plus, it seemed he wasn't peeing out of it anymore. His balls, during their shrinking process, had flattened a bit into this oval-type shape, and then just a couple of days ago this slit had developed in-between them, and, well...

"You have a _vulva_ ," Sam interrupted, still yelling, "and it never occurred to you to _share this fact with the rest of us?_ "

"I was going to!" countered Dean, starting to look less embarrassed and a little more pissed-off now. "Jesus, Sammy, it's not like you're the one who's lost his fucking dick, okay?" He shifts his feet. "I was going to tell you guys, just..."

"Just _what_? You wanted to take it for a test drive first?"

The yelling continues and soon attracts Bobby from whatever part of the house he'd been in. As usual, he's able to get them both to quiet the hell down in record time, after which he demands to know what's going on.

\---

When Dean's done explaining, there's silence for a bit and they all sit there kind of awkwardly for a few minutes. 'Cause the thing is, now that Sam can think a bit more rationally about it, Dean still looks _completely_ male in every single way, except for what he's got going on under the hood. It's freaking him out, but then also every time he thinks about it, and tries to work his head around _how_ Dean can still look like a guy, except for, well, _that_ , that image keeps popping back in his mind, his older brother half-dressed, spread out like that, moaning and panting, rubbing at his clit and sticking his fingers into his--

His face burning, Sam pinches his leg hard and starts chanting mentally, "Dean is my brother. Dean is a man. I am _not_ attracted to my brother, and I am _not_ attracted to men. Dean is my brother. Dean is..."

Only, sure, Dean is his brother and Dean is a man, but Dean is also currently a man with a woman's genitalia, and Sam can't really help the reaction he has to seeing a woman get herself off. Or rather, seeing a woman's genitalia being gotten off. Or... It's all very confusing, and he'd really rather just stop thinking about it completely, because if he keeps thinking about it like this there's going to be some physically humiliating consequences pretty soon.

Once again, Bobby takes in this new information far too calmly; it can't be normal for someone to be that unperturbed by everything. "So he's becoming a woman, or part of him is, at least." He shrugs. "That's not the same thing as a shrinking dick. Gives us a whole bunch of new possibilities to look into."

Too many possibilities, Sam wants to protest, the image of Dean in the bathroom still running through his head on loop. But instead he pushes it aside as best he can and the three of them start hitting the research again, Bobby smacking the back of Dean's head for not saying something earlier.

\---

But as promising as this new lead had seemed, it doesn't prove that useful in practice. Once again, Bobby thinks the most likely scenario is witchcraft or hoodoo of some kind, but to figure out how to reverse it they need to know who's behind it and what exactly was done. Books and notes don't help much with that.

"Is there anyone you know of who's been holding a grudge against you?" Bobby finally asks.

And, well. There's all the people and businesses they've paid using fake credit cards, and there's the various law enforcement officers after them, and there's the possibility of things they tried to kill but might not have, and there are Dean's various jilted lovers--

"One of them," Sam says, "it has to be. Or maybe they all got together and formed a support group."

Dean glares at him. "Hey, it's not my fault you're freaking celibate. Don't take your sexual frustration out on those of us without your hang-ups."

Bobby stops them from coming to blows yet again, but it's pretty obvious he's had it up to here with both of them and their bitching. He threatens to send them to separate rooms if they don't shut up and start acting like hunters. Dean smirks and whines that Sam's picking on him 'cause he's a girl; the corner of Bobby's eye twitches.

"It's gotta be someone with a fair deal of knowledge about the occult," Bobby muses, ignoring Dean, "so that rules out most of those people you mentioned."

"But this doesn't _seem_ like something any of the creatures we've hunted would be capable of doing," Sam says. "It's got more of a human feel to it. Plus, it's obvious whoever did this knew Dean personally." He smirks at his brother. "Who _wouldn't_ want to turn him into a chick?"

"Hey!" Dean protests. "I think everybody knows that if either of us is a chick, it's not me!"

"Right," Bobby interrupts, "so who's got an odd sense of humor, a reason to get back at Dean and access to the kind of knowledge or occult objects you'd need to pull something like this off?"

There's a pause.

"Well," Sam says slowly, "we did run into Bela again a few towns back. There was this pendant she was trying to get her hands on."

"Makes the wearer's blood turn to sludge. We did her the favor of destroying it," Dean adds cheerfully, then frowns. "Hey. Wait a minute."

\---

So, they're pretty sure it's Bela. Bobby says he'll inquire around about her whereabouts, while Sam and Dean hop back in the Impala and head toward Queens. They stop in a motel along the way, and Sam's suddenly itchy with being alone with Dean, no Bobby as a buffer between them.

Dean doesn't seem bothered. "I call bathroom," he says after dumping his stuff on one of the beds, and promptly sequesters himself in there.

For a half-second, Sam's relieved to be rid of him, but then he remembers what it is that Dean's been _doing_ in bathrooms. He tries to distract himself with the laptop, but the motel room table is only a few meters away from the bathroom door, and he keeps thinking he hears noises coming from the other side. The television is the perfect way to drown the noise out. Sam makes a tactical withdrawal to his bed, remote in hand, and turns on some sitcom with a mercifully loud laugh track. Anything, anything to keep his mind off Dean until he comes out of--

Dean comes out of the bathroom.

Dean, as he often does when it's warm, is wearing only a pair of boxers.

Dean has two -- small, perfectly formed, definitely female, complete with dark areolas and peaked nipples -- breasts. On his chest. His otherwise male, broad-shouldered, chest.

"Bathroom's yours," Dean says, completely oblivious of the way Sam's staring.

Sam, meanwhile, tries to say something, but he can't quite seem to move his jaw from where it's hanging unhinged. Dean is sorting through stuff in his duffel bag, and as he does so, his small breasts are jiggling slightly. Something snaps in Sam's mind.

"...Dean," Sam finally manages, faintly. His brother doesn't seem to have heard, so he swallows, and repeats, more insistently, " _Dean._ "

"Huh?" says Dean, tilting his head up, breasts still hanging down in front of him.

Without knowing how he got there, Sam suddenly has his brother pinned in the small space between Dean's bed and the wall. With the element of surprise on his side, he's able to catch hold of Dean's wrists fairly easily, holding his brother's torso still with his hips and one of his legs slipped between both of Dean's, denim pressed against cotton boxers.

"What the f--" Dean begins, but cuts himself off as Sam grinds his thigh in a little harder.

"Dean," Sam says calmly. "When did you grow _breasts?_ "

Dean blinks. "Oh, yeah, uh, I forgot to mention..."

Sam's not listening. It's possible (likely) he's not really thinking anymore, either. Instead, he's slipping his left hand down from Dean's wrist, thumb pressing into his armpit, fingers sliding through the light chest hair below to the smooth skin of Dean's breast, scraping his fingernails slowly toward the nipple and watching the indentations they make in the soft flesh.

Dean is immobile through this, his unpinned hand still against the wall next to his head, but when Sam drags his thumb over to pinch the nipple, Dean inhales sharply and says, "Sam, what are you..."

"Shhhh." Sam wants to concentrate, and it's apparent Dean isn't distracted enough to stop being a distraction. Continuing his ministrations with his left hand, he releases Dean's right wrist as well and traces a line down the side of Dean's torso, passing by the other breast. All in due time.

When Dean realizes where Sam's second hand is headed, he's started out of his stupor. "Wait," he says, bringing his arms down swiftly to grab at Sam's wrists. Sam scowls at this impediment and tries to twist his arms free, but Dean tightens his grip.

"Why are you doing this?" Dean asks, and Sam can hear that his breathing is a little ragged, that his voice is shaky.

By now, since most of Sam's brain seems to have shut down, everything is very simple. It's Dean. Dean, who he loves with a clear single-mindedness. (The only person left he loves anymore, really.) Dean, who has radiated sex appeal pretty consistently since hitting puberty. Dean, who Sam used to dream about kissing, only to reassure himself that all dreams were random and meaningless, brain farts with no ties to reality. Dean, who Sam had always admitted was attractive, but convinced himself he wasn't attracted _to_. (I mean, this was his _brother_ , who doubled as a man, and the occasional adolescent fantasy aside, Sam was just interested in women.) Dean, who now had breasts, and a clitoris, and a vagina, all things that Sam liked quite a bit. And it should be strange, these bits seemingly cut and pasted onto Dean's male body, should maybe feel wrong and possibly repellent, but the way Sam's mind sees it, it's just a bunch of things he _really_ likes, all combined in one nice package.

But instead of saying any of this, Sam just looks at his brother, tries to let his eyes do the talking for him.

\---

Okay, maybe it's a little strange, Sam decides once he's got Dean spread out on the motel bed. Sure, he's been with a woman with stubbly legs before, but not only are Dean's legs far hairier than any woman's would be, the structure's all wrong -- hips too narrow, thighs too small, muscles tight and hard where the few women he'd slept with had been soft, fairly lacking in muscle definition. And yet still, he's got his face buried between his brother's legs, tongue stroking and flicking over his clit, nose pressed against a soft patch of pubic hair, and Dean is writhing beneath him, clenching and unclenching all of those well-honed muscles, making increasingly loud moans and other needy noises as he clutches and pulls at Sam's hair.

"Fuck," Dean says, panting in the aftermath of his second orgasm. "Jesus."

"Yeah," Sam grins, dropping a light kiss onto his brother's lips. When he pulls back, Dean glares at him.

"Hey," says Dean, poking Sam in the chest with an index finger, "no more of this shit. You think I just wanna lie here and get off all night while you do all the work?" He pauses. "Well, yeah, okay, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea, and I'm not complaining about the multiple orgasms, but that doesn't mean you," he slips his hand down and wraps it around the base of Sam's cock, "get off scot-free."

\---

So they have wild and crazy sex all night, and when Sam can't get it up anymore, Dean mocks him, citing the advantages of a clitoris over a penis.

"You won't have that much longer, you know," Sam threatens.

And Dean says, "Yeah, I know," and gets a kind of uncertain look on his face, suddenly, which makes Sam frown until he realizes where it's coming from.

"No," he says, as he kisses Dean hard on the mouth, over and over, "No," and the look goes away as Dean kisses him back and wraps himself around Sam.

\---

The next morning, they complete the drive to Queens, but not surprisingly, Bela doesn't seem to be home. There is, however, a note on the counter:

_Dean:_

_Don't bother looking for me -- I'm busy with a job you've been conveniently distracted from by my little ruse, and by the time you start your search, the item I'm procuring will already be on its way overseas. As far as the curse goes (nice little modification of some old Indonesian witchcraft I had a friend/client cook up for me), it will start wearing off on its own in a few more weeks. Trust me. And maybe next time, you'll think twice about sticking your dick in other people's business._

_Ta, Bela._

\---

Of course, they look for her anyway, but Bela is true to her word and cannot be located. Sam notices, at night when they're pressing each other into the bed sheets, that the rest of Dean's body has started changing as well, hips widening, neck and shoulders narrowing, waist getting slimmer. He's just as muscular as ever, but there's a bit more padding around his ass and thighs, and Sam feels weird when his hands pass over these suddenly foreign regions.

"It's still me," Dean says, cinching up the belt buckle on his too-loose jeans. "I'll probably start changing back as soon as I'm one-hundred percent woman."

The more female Dean becomes, the more Sam wishes he would change back already. This woman version of Dean isn't his brother -- it's some stranger's body with his brother's brain in it. Sam doesn't bother trying to convince himself that maybe this is just what Dean would've looked like, had he been born female. He wasn't born female, and it's obvious that even though he might look like one now, Dean is still a man. Sam pesters him a little about wearing a bra, but Dean just laughs and asks if that'd turn him on.

Sam scowls. "I just think," he says, "that maybe there's something else you're supposed to be learning from this whole thing. I mean, all the times you've treated women like objects -- maybe you're supposed to be getting a taste of how the other half lives."

Dean rolls his eyes. "What are you talking about? I don't treat women like _objects_. Where'd you get that from, some college textbook? All the women I've ever slept with have come looking for a good time, and I've given it to them. Besides," he says, batting his eyelashes, "I think we both know who's taking advantage of whom, here."

\---

So Sam pouts, and thinks that Dean could have _at least_ had to deal with a period or something, 'cause he's had way too much fun with this whole thing, but in a day or two he notices Dean's body is changing back, and it doesn't seem to matter that much anymore. As Dean starts looking more and more like his old self, Sam feels less awkward touching him, and the two of them spend even more time wrapped up in each other in bed.

"Hey," Dean says one day after coming out of the bathroom. He's unclothed, and Sam lets his eyes drift lazily over his brother's body, back to being mostly male with just the small breasts and vulva on it again, now.

"Yeah?" Sam asks, reaching out to pull Dean back down into bed with him.

"Wait. Look, I." Dean takes a deep breath and averts his eyes. "I mean, since the reversal seems to have been going a little quicker than the male-female change did, I don't think I'm going to have these ...parts much longer."

Sam frowns. "Dean, I told you. That doesn't..."

"Are you sure?" Dean looks at him. "You only... I mean, it wasn't until I grew breasts, before."

Sam shakes his head. "No. I told you." And this time Dean lets himself be pulled down, and in the morning, the clitoris can't really be called a clitoris anymore -- too wide, too long, obviously the beginnings of the return of Dean's penis. Within a couple of days, Sam estimates, it'll probably be back to regular size. He finds himself wondering what it'd be like to have Dean fuck him.

"You know," Dean says, staring down at himself with a half-disappointed look on his face, "I really will miss the multiple orgasms."


End file.
